


Quiet afternoon

by elektra121



Category: Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elektra121/pseuds/elektra121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy is happily married to her three men. Domestic life of newlyweds. Really, didn't they deserve their happy ending?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/gifts).
  * A translation of [Ruhiger Nachmittag. Regen.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/696601) by [elektra121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elektra121/pseuds/elektra121). 



_„Why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?“_ (Lucy Westenra)

 

It had been a nice, quiet afternoon, one of those Lucy loved so dearly.

Arthur, tied up in business matters in town, had been back by noon, taking a little nap, because he had been up so early. Lucy herself was dozing comfortably on one of the sofas at the parlour leaning against Quincey who read to her from the newspapers. Currently he commented on the “News from all over the world”-column, telling her what he knew about all the things and places mentioned there that he knew himself from experience. Now and then Lucy would sleepily drop in an “Oh yes?” and “How very interesting!”, but truthfully she was way too lulled by Quincey’s calming, manly voice to actually pay much attention to what exactly he was talking about. Sometimes he would make a little fun of her, interlacing his reports with made-up fantasy places that he claimed to have travelled. (Like _Honolulu_ , or _Lake Titty-Cacka_. Really! Lucy had laughed until she cried when he came up with _that_ one, but apparently Quincey had told Arthur about his little prank before, who swore to her with an earnest face that he had been there, too. Jack only smiled when she told him.)

Secretly, Lucy thought Quincey to be some kind of a wizard of words, or at least a genius. Not only could he declare his love in ten tongues, or tell his reports so vividly that they took you away to foreign countries and continents, leaving you marvelling to be in England still when he ended. No, moreover, he somehow managed to use dirty and mean words in such a fashion that they – for some strange and inscrutable cause – didn’t sound dirty and mean any longer, only unbelievably exciting. He would whisper things to her ear that every other man would have been sued for, but in his case they made her blush in a quite more pleasant shade of red and her heart and womb overflow with desire.

 

„Little Lady, you don’t even listen, do you?“

He wasn’t angry. He never was. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I’m thinking… about you.”, she answered, quite truthfully. “What I feel like, with you near.”

“How do you feel like?”

“Safe. Happy. And loved. And… how do you call that again? Horny.“ She whispered the latter in his ear. She didn’t manage to have it come out as nice as he could. Nonetheless he grinned and kissed her. His moustache tickled her, in not quite the same way like Arthur’s, but beautifully as well. She grasped for him, between his legs, and to her delight she found the desire to be mutual. He liked her to be so bold. She called it her ‘American way’.

 

“May I participate or shall I rather hide a little behind the curtains, watching you in secret?”

“Arthur! You’re awake.” „Yes, darling, I believe that now every part of my body is awake.“

“If you would rather stand there watching feel free to do so. But we’d love you to join us at any time, don’t we, Quincey?” She snuggled up at Quincey, holding her hand out to Arthur. He fell on his knees, old-fashioned, kissing her hand.

“Perhaps the Lady is willing to let me do my knightly duties and assist her with those cumbersome garments?”

“She is.”

While Quincey was getting down his pair of braces and freeing himself from his pants, Arthur drew near a chair, sitting on it. He then pushed up Lucy’s skirts and helped her to get on Quincey’s lap. Lord be thanked this was only one of her lighter day gowns. Nonetheless she sat in what seemed like a cloud of heavy, rustling fabric that nearly reached to her chest. Lucy felt a little gnawing at her conscience thinking about the poor maid that would have to iron out all those wrinkles afterwards. That really was no fun – she remembered her domestic lessons in school only with a shudder. But then Arthur’s hands, which had finally found her under all those layers of fabric, took her mind off such things. Warm, skilful and gentle. At the same moment Quincey was nudging her from behind, very softly, in his own rhythm. Lucy sighed. She felt so safe, so loved, that she wanted to give something back, had to give something back, or else she would have died of it. Carefully, she leaned forward a little – Quincey holding her, one arm steady around her waist – und unbuttoned Arthur’s pants. She did not have to fumble for long, the thing she was searching for sprang into her hands almost immediately. She tried to mimic Arthur’s touches on herself, in the same rhythm, as soft or firm as his. She looked into his eyes until at last it seemed to her like she was looking into a strange glass while caressing herself. She watched his face redden and his breath getting faster and little droplets of sweat forming on his forehead – and she was certain that, at the same time, he could see the same in her. It was so beautiful, to have him so, to watch his lips getting red and his eyes turning blank, and in the same instant to know that she herself was responsible for all that. She loved him so, so much.

“Please, say us something!”, she demanded breathlessly, and Quincey obeyed only too gladly, showering them with lines of his sweet magic swearwords. In listening, something very delightfully tightened deep down in Lucy’s womb and she moaned out loud. This had Quincey and Arthur laughing. Lucy laughed, too.

Quincey was breathing heavily by now. “Little Lady, I’m afraid… if you don’t get in the saddle soon…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but Lucy and Arthur got the hint and Lucy lifted herself somewhat awkwardly, supporting herself on her arms (this gown was quite heavy, really), while Arthur was feeling around for Quincey beneath her, guiding him the right way. Then Lucy let herself down and for a little while there was nothing more to the world than this feeling of having that wonderful, wonderful man inside her. So hard and hot and _big_ that her body had to adjust slightly for a few moments before she could relax, leaning back against him. It could have edged to discomfort, if it wouldn’t have felt so overwhelmingly _good_ having her body open up for him, so great a happiness being a woman loved by such men.

Lucy closed her eyes. She hardly could bear such incredible amount of bliss and maybe she moaned and wailed and cried or stammered snatches of nonsense when Quincey fell into galopp. (As they kept telling her she did at times, when she was in full flow, but Lucy herself could never remember.) She felt so _complete_ , so bursting _full_ with happiness, that it didn’t take very long until her body eventually jolted, again and again, with amazing force, completely without any effort on her part, and she saw the blinding white light behind her eyes.Then time stood still, and the man inside her and the one in front of her and she herself and the air around them that smelled of their odours, everything, the whole world at once was nothing more than deep, blissful peace.

At length Lucy gasped for air, because otherwise she surely would have suffocated. Her lungs seemed to not be able to get enough of it, the sound of her heartbeat hammering deafeningly in her ears. She jolted one last time, an afterglow.

“Little fidgety… filly, you… you’re a… a…“ Quincey breathed hard and then he was growling something incomprehensible through his teeth and shuddered in her. Once, twice. He sighed, exhausted and sunk back, Lucy still pressed against him. They lay on the sofa, one onto the other, without moving, until they catched their breaths again. Then Lucy picked herself up and Quincey slid out of her. She realised that Arthur had been watching them the whole time. He casually leant back in his chair, legs stretched out comfortably and indulged in what Quincey referred to as “wanking”.

“You two look rather hot when coming”, he observed, chuckling. “And sound like it, as well. One day we shall have your phonograph record it. And then we’ll smuggle the cylinder into Jack’s office, that he may have distraction when in need.”

Lucy and Quincey broke into laughter. But it was true, all three of them worried for Jack now and then, whenever he stayed long days in Carfax, working nightshifts and overtime and then returning to Hillingham tired and weary, or worse still, depressed and in gloomy mood. He still occupied his bachelor’s flat in the asylum (everything else would have roused too much suspicion), but he visited as often as it was possible, to stay the night with them. It pained Lucy to see him pale and haggard and so she took up the habit of feeding him small titbits whenever he came, even when he claimed not being hungry. Arthur carefully questioned him for any eventual financial difficulties with the asylum and offered his help, while Quincey was convinced he just “needed to get out a little”. All three of them shared the opinion that Jack tended to overwork himself in all his idealism.

“We should go and pick him up today, all three of us, don’t you think? Would he like that?” Lucy rose, and took Arthur’s hand, laying it on her bosom. She felt the warmth spreading from his palm when he began to move it.

“Yes.” Arthur seemed too much distracted to notice what exactly it was that he answered.

“Working more than is good for him, poor chap. Too good for this world.” said Quincey, still staccato-style.

“Now come to me, love!” Arthur demanded, his voice yearning, close to begging. Lucy gathered her skirts (less careful this time, it was hopelessly crumpled anyway), climbing on Arthur’s lap. He slid into her, so easy, without any resistance, as if her body knew him exactly and did not want to put any hindrance in his way. Arthur held her hips tightly. Lucy slung her arms around him and kissed his face. Slowly, tenderly, in rhythm with his motions, first his forehead, then his cheeks, then his nose, his chin, his closed eyelids, everything. At last, only when she sensed that he was near, she kissed his mouth. Deeply, wet, indecent. He moaned into her kiss and dug his fingers into her flesh so tightly they might leave bruises. She leaned back watching him, as he came – his face was so lost to the world, and oblivious, and _wild_ – and she felt proud to be the one to take him there, this man that was usually so self-controlled, so reserved and courteous. She caressed his hair and whispered terms of endearment to him when he came down. At length, he sighed and sprawled with pleasure.

“Somebody should ring for a little tea. I could use a refreshment.” said Quincey.

 

***

After having had tea and biscuits, Lucy changed clothes and then the three of them took a cab to Victoria, where they boarded the train. The weather behind the windowpanes was dull and grey, a weather “when you don’t miss anything out there”. Arthur, Lucy and Quincey played cards. When they left the train a drizzling rain made the twilight only more uncomfortable. Thankfully the way to the asylum was short. Arthur held Lucy’s umbrella.

The doorman greeted them somewhat suspiciously, before recognising Lucy and Arthur, Quincey never having been to Carfax before.

“That’s Mr. Morris, a good friend of the house and of Dr. Seward's, too”, Arthur introduced him. They flashed brief apologizing glances at each other. Sadly, in public, it had to be like this. Only Lucy and Arthur wore rings and only Arthur and Lucy had been blessed by a priest, although all four of them had sworn love and loyalty to each other. Lucy secretly still cherished hope that the laws would change one day and all of them would get the chance to marry “for real” someday. She was sorry for Jack and Quincey, sometimes feeling a pang of conscience, even when she herself was not able to help it in any case. She had even written a letter to the Queen, but never having been graced with an answer.

The doorman guided them in, took their cloaks and escorted them to Jack’s study where they should wait for him. After having kindled a fire in the fireplace, he brought them tea, not very good tea, but they were grateful nonetheless, because it held a comfortable warmth after the cold, wet weather outside and in this not very successfully heated room.

Suddenly, Jack stood in the doorway, seemingly completely taken aback by their presence.“Is something the matter? I mean, with you being here?” He had this worry line on his forehead that Lucy didn’t like to see.

“You would come to think he did not like us being here!”, Quincey complained with a smirk.

“Exactly my opinion!”, Arthur agreed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Is that a proper greeting for one’s own family? Really, how rude.”

Lucy rushed at Jack’s side. He took her hands, kissing them. „At least he knows how to treat a lady.“

Jack apologised quickly. „It is only that… I mean, I’m wondering. What exactly would be the reason for your being here?“ He made the impression of utter bafflement. They looked at each other and began laughing.

„Well, apparently it is utterly impossible that you could be the cause”, Arthur said. “Most impossible”, Quincey agreed. „Completely“, Lucy nodded, before she could not bear it and flung her arms around his neck. “You dear fool, we wanted to see you, to make you happy.”

He looked rather baffled still. “You know, in this you might have succeeded!” Slowly his look became a smile. “I just believe it’ll take some time yet, until I’m fully used to that sort of thing.”

“Us assailing you without warning?”, Arthur asked, a little guiltily. Jack shook his head and drew Lucy close. “No. Having a family caring for me. And a home waiting.“

“Then we should waste no time heading home.”, Quincey said, taking his pocket-watch out to hide his emotion. “The train is due in 23 minutes.” He let the lid close with a snap.

 

On the short, dark way to the station (meanwhile, the drizzle had given way to heavy rain) he had an idea.

“You know, if you guys like, I can teach you an American game on our way back. We could play it after dinner. It’s called Strip Poker.“

„‘Strip‘ like in ‚paper strip‘?“, supposed Jack.

“Nope, ‘strip’ like in ‘taking your clothes off’”, Quincey explained.

Lucy laughed, delighted. This Quincey boy! A genius with words.

 

_It would be a nice, quiet evening, one of those Lucy loved so dearly._


End file.
